Before
by edka88
Summary: She thought that finding him was the end of it. In her grief, nothing else mattered. Sequel to Beyond.


Hello dear readers! It's been a while. I'm so happy that many of you are still here, and a huge thank you for every one of you who favorited my works and/or wrote me notes. You are all wonderful people.:)

This story is dedicated to two of my dear friends: to Stacey (Deadtom77) for giving me the idea of a follow-up story for Beyond, and to Evy (magnessina) for her unwavering trust in my work and her encouraging letters. Thank you so much!:)

P.S.: Bonus point for any of you who figures out why the title is Before. (If this helps: the reason is similar as for Beyond.;)

* * *

Warm air brushed her ear and Christine's eyes snapped open.

When she felt another wave her heart jumped to her throat.

Somebody was breathing very close to her ear…

A moment later she let go of her terror with a relieved sigh.

_Erik._

He was sleeping next to her. Or – now it all came back slowly – it might have been so that she invited him to sleep with her. She wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter now.

Closing her eyes she took a deep breath then slowly looked around – it was almost completely dark, only the dim light of the smothering logs in the fireplace cast some brightness in the room. Now she could tell that the distant weight across her stomach was his arm, and the soft press on her ankle was his leg.

She smiled to herself.

His current position was quite an improvement after their original awkwardness last night.

It was him who suggested that they go to sleep after she almost fell asleep on his lap. They spent the whole evening huddled close together on the floor, talking about everything and nothing for hours, it seemed. Then he escorted her to the other room – her room, in fact – and stopped in the middle as if he wasn't entirely sure what to do next.

She cringed a little when her thoughts reached the incident with the dress: she was still wearing the wedding gown that he had given her, and after a minute of fumbling uselessly with the laces she asked him to help her out of it. He almost bolted from the room before he nodded his hesitant agreement. It was only after it was done that she realized she had nothing to wear for the night; and so she had to wait in the middle of the room, gracelessly holding the front of the dress to herself until he returned with one of his shirts that she requested with some embarrassment.

He was still lingering in the room when she came back from the bathroom where she changed, arranging the blanket on the bed for her. She didn't really had any chance to thank it for him, though, as right after she sat on the bed she moved to the side almost without any thought to make room for him, then there was that seemingly endless moment when they stared at each other… In the end she succeeded in finding her voice just long enough to tell him she wouldn't mind if he stayed with her. At long last he accepted, managing to blurt out a bunch of jumbled words, asking her in a terribly lacking sentence if she minded that he get rid of his trousers.

While she was wearing one of his shirts. Only.

Her lips pulled into a smile even from the memory of it. Such a courtesy among all the inappropriate things they had been through already.

Suddenly some unwanted feeling engulfed her – shame or regret, she couldn't decide – that she went against rules so adamantly… She wasn't supposed to leave everything behind for a man like him, she wasn't supposed to marry against common sense, she wasn't supposed to share a bed with someone who wasn't yet her husband… even if they'd been too tired even to have a bath before going to sleep, let alone to do anything 'improper'. And at the same time she was very much aware of the cost of obeying expectations; she'd had enough of that in the four days while she debated with herself before coming back.

She let out a tired sigh.

If only she had some kind of guidance, she thought, the peace of _knowing_ what would happen now; but as much as she yearned for that she could only rely upon her own judgment. The knowledge of being alone was a numbing thought – but at least she had _him_.

She turned around carefully in his arms so as not to wake him, searching for his features in the darkness. It seemed that the shadow on his chin and around his lips grew darker throughout the night, but the redness around his eyes disappeared, as far as she could tell. Now she noticed that he had lost some weight, too, but it was only to be expected, knowing that he forewent sleeping, too.

Most probably the same stood for her as well.

Briefly she closed her eyes, listening to the soft sound of his breathing, missing last night's peace and relief immeasurably. Then nothing else mattered but to know him close to her, to feel his touch, the brush of his lips, the reassurance of the promise of marriage and a lifetime spent together… now she couldn't escape the thought that they spent the night under the burnt out opera house.

Her lips pulled aside ruefully. Well, at least she cared about _something_ now.

Her fingers swept a light caress across his face, and she was almost startled at how his stubble tickled her palm.

_Did it feel the same every morning?_

Beside her he shifted slightly, crawling closer to her with the movement and tightening his hold on her. Her thumb brushed his cheek again before she pulled it back; he drew in a deep breath, then another and another, but she wasn't sure if she woke him until he spoke a moment later.

"Christine…" It came out as a broken sigh and it settled as an uncomfortable weight around her stomach.

"I'm here," she hurried to answer, reaching out to touch his face again.

Slowly he opened his eyes as another sigh rushed through his lips. "For a moment I thought…" He closed his eyes briefly. "I thought you were a vision."

Her heart gave a strange leap at the words. "I think you're far too pragmatic to have visions," she offered, managing to keep her voice even.

He gave her a serious look. "I yearned for them. Just to see you again."

She swallowed, almost afraid to hear the answer; but then asked him anyway. "Did you succeed?"

He licked his lips absently. "No, I…" He freed his hand from under the blanket, reaching up carefully to cover her hand on his face. His palm was surprisingly warm on her skin. "You turned out to be real."

Something twisted near her stomach at his quiet words, something that made air tremble in its way out of her lungs and that made her shiver; she leant forward and stopped only inches from his lips, noting perplexedly that his eyes were still staring at her. They fluttered closed, though, in the moment that she brushed her lips across his, his hold on her hand tightening momentarily, then stroking a hesitant caress down on the back of her hand.

His hold was still there a moment later when she pulled back, and she felt his chest moving with a shaky sigh against her own. His sight strayed to her lips before hastily retuning to her eyes, and for a moment she couldn't decide if he was way too close or not nearly close enough. It was oddly confusing.

"Does your back still hurt?" She asked him, trying to resist the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.

"No," he said, shaking his head slightly, then he swept his hand across his face so she had to pull back hers. "It was just the result of spending too much time on the floor. I'm fine."

One of his hands reached out and carefully settled on her face to stroke his thumb across her lips. She smiled at the unexpected tingle, and maybe it was just the poor light in the room but it seemed that his lips pulled into a smile, too.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked her then.

"Uh-hm," she hummed. "I only woke five minutes before you."

He nodded and pulled back his hand. Then looked around in the room slowly before turning back to her. "Did you hear anything? From above?"

"No." She shifted slightly to adjust her weight better on her elbow. "Maybe it's still night-time," she offered.

"I don't think so. We slept for quite a long while." He fell silent, thinking. "Yesterday, when you came back…" He stopped for a moment, turning away with a sigh. "What time was it then?"

"I don't know… Perhaps… Six. By the time I got down here." She pondered again. "The sun had already set when I left…" Her voice tapered off when he lifted to his elbow beside her.

"You came here alone?"

His tone was slightly harsher than she expected and probably than he intended, too, because a wince ghosted over his features. "I thought you already knew that," she told him calmly. "I couldn't possibly ask Raoul to escort me back here."

"But…" His hand lifted from the bed, only to rake his fingers through his already tangled hair. "Anything could have happened to you!"

His wrist twitched when his hand sank back to the bed, and she wasn't sure that his whole hand was not trembling, too.

When she reached out to take his hand she was certain of it, and she gave him a soft squeeze. "Nothing happened," she offered. His hand was completely still in her grasp. "People don't have the courage to come here after what happened. The rumors… They say that the Phantom haunts the streets now in his rage." She peered up at him: his sight was riveted to her hand that was holding his. "And I was still wearing the wedding dress, so I wouldn't be surprised if they thought me to be a ghost myself," she finished with a small smile.

No answer came from him and his eyes couldn't meet hers for long minutes. At last, his thumb brushed the back of her hand and he ventured a quick glance at her, too, but he didn't speak until she squeezed his hand back.

"I guess it must be about noon," he said finally. "Though I have no idea on which day," he added.

"It was the 18th yesterday," she answered.

"It's been four days?"

"Almost five by now," she corrected, and he nodded distantly.

One of the logs in the fireplace gave a soft crackle, and light spread across the room as the flames sprang to life. It was so cozy, so _ordinary_, to spend a morning with her beloved – but it shouldn't have been. They'd never done this before, shouldn't be doing it now – and if she thought about it, nothing what they'd done so far was even close to ordinary. It was strangely upsetting, knowing that the feeling was somehow _unfounded_.

His voice was strangely quiet when he spoke again. "Christine, what will happen now?"

"Well, we'll have breakfast as neither of us has eaten in almost five days. Then have a bath, as we forewent to that as well."

He looked down at the blanket between them. "No, I meant after we married. What then?"

"Oh. Well…" Her heart gave a strange leap with the next beat. "I think I always assumed you had a detailed plan for the future. Being so determined and all…"

She trailed off in the moment his eyes left hers as he turned away from her. "Christine, I…"

"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly, trying to swallow the quickly forming lump in her throat. "_I_ asked you not to talk about it."

He shook his head at the same time as his hand gave a small flutter in her grasp. "I didn't," he said softly and turned back to her. "I never had a plan for the future. I think I never really believed you'd marry me."

Air left her lungs in a rushed sigh. "Even before…everything?"

"No, I…" He stopped abruptly as if he was barely able to catch the rest of the sentence before it slipped out. Yet a moment later, he continued. "For me, it was the end of it. I didn't think ahead of that."

"Why not?"

His lips twitched. "I learned a long time ago that dreams never come true," he admitted. "Even without everything else, my face was always there."

"I adored a faceless angel," she reminded him gently. "Even if I didn't really believe in his unearthly persona in the last few years."

"It was all a lie," he reminded her dismally.

"I think not."

At her words his throat moved with a swallow, then slowly one of his hands lifted to sweep a long brush across her cheek with his thumb. "I love you, Christine," he told her reverently.

Her lips pulled into a small smile. "I know." She stroked away some of his hair from his temple. "I love you, too."

She leant forward and felt the nervous flutter of his breath on her lips and the soft quiver of his fingers against her face; then a sudden rush of air as he exhaled when her lips brushed his… At first, he seemed to be too afraid or too shy to respond and she was too uncertain to go further, as if the night's sleep had rendered her more conscious of the intimacy of the act.

Then his lips closed around hers with the softest pressure. Then released them, only to capture them again a moment later.

She sunk into his embrace weightlessly, gasping for air when he clumsily turned the two of them so that now it was _him_ who was kissing _her_, taking the next step that she dared not to; and a pleasant shiver ran down on her back when she felt the first timid probe of his tongue on her lips.

Minutes later he let go of her with a long, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, then pulled back and twisted a little to rummage in the drawer of the nightstand. When he straightened again there was something small and glittering in his hand, and he stared at it for a long moment before looking up at her, offering her the object. "Christine, would you…"

He let the rest of it drift away, and as she glanced down at his palm she finally learnt what that something was: a ring.

She already had one…

…but he didn't. He bought a ring for himself as well.

She reached for it with a trembling hand, then turned the golden band between her fingers: it was a perfect match of hers.

Her heart contorted with some unknown emotion: he had bought a ring for himself – or rather for her, to give it to him.

How did people offer a ring to their beloved? Did women give a ring to their not-yet-husbands at all? And shouldn't it have been her who bought it for him?

Beside her he shifted somewhat impatiently and she ventured a quick glance at him: he, also, was looking down at the ring in her hand.

She licked her lips uncertainly. "Please take this ring as a sign of my love and my will to marry you," she said, wincing at how her voice wavered with the sentence. He didn't seem to mind it, though; he offered his hand for her as an answer, and she slid the ring on his fourth finger with one swift movement.

In the next moment she was drawn into his embrace, his arms folding around her frame tightly. She returned his hold immediately.

For long minutes neither of them spoke a word, nor did they move; only the occasional crackle of logs broke the silence around them. After a while she felt his hesitant caress down on her back and she snuggled up closer to him.

"You seemed so anxious," she told to his shoulder.

"I didn't really know how to ask you to give it to me," he explained, drawing his hand down on the length of her hair. "It's rather unconventional."

Indeed it was, but she couldn't be happier that he deliberately went against tradition this time. It was so… she couldn't really name how it made her feel. He wanted her to give him the ring so he could wear it, even before the ceremony. As a promise, maybe, to know that she would indeed marry him – but he already knew that. He couldn't even finish that sentence… Could it be so that he wanted to have it because he wanted _her_ to express her wish to have him as her husband? As a mirror image of how he offered her the ring yesterday?

Some unfamiliar, pleasant warmth started around her heart and she tightened her hold on him, then felt the softest pressure of lips on her hair.

"Any other man would have had a query of an entirely different kind with an almost completely unclothed woman in their bed," she told him at last, smiling at the irony. In fact, anyone else but her expected him to do just that.

His whole body tensed against her at the words. "Christine, I will not ask you _that_." Probably he wanted to say more but his voice disappeared in a sigh.

"I don't think you'll need that 'asking' part," she remarked, looking to the side even if he couldn't see the blood rushing to her cheeks.

He murmured something into her hair that she couldn't quite understand; something about his face, and that she didn't have to endure it just because she'd be his wife. Something twisted near her heart and she pulled back to look at him but he wasn't looking at her.

"Erik, I love you." His hold tightened around her briefly, and finally, his eyes met hers. "And I won't be disgusted, if that's what you thought," she added softly, and she felt him shudder under her palms in return. It took her suddenly dry throat two failed attempts until she could speak again. "In fact, I'm excited to be with you."

His throat moved with a swallow, and it seemed that color rushed to his cheeks at her statement. "I didn't dare to presume," he rasped, his sight straying from hers once again before returning to her eyes.

"Now you know," she smiled at him, dropping her sight to their clasped hands.

From the corner of her eyes she saw his free hand moving, then felt the softest brush against her face. "You deserve so much better than I am," he told her, the hand in her grasp convulsing slightly.

"But I want _you_," she told him, her voice failing her when she saw why his tone was so faint moments ago: his eyes were visibly shining even in the dim light of the room. "That's the only thing I'm sure about these days," she sniffled.

She felt hesitant fingers raking through her curls before he spoke again. "Christine, forgive me. I don't have the strength to tell you to leave again."

"I wouldn't listen, anyway," she replied.

He smiled at her, and once again swept a long caress down the length of her hair, finally resting his palm lightly on her shoulder. Turning to the side a little, she gave a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

Somewhere it hurt so much to know that this wasn't meant to be – but even more painful was the thought that both of them were very much aware of it. That was why he was so concerned about her decision and also it was the reason behind her worries. A murderer like him would never deserve to have a loving wife – and at the same time, she was supposed to be overjoyed at the opportunity of becoming a Vicomtess.

But she didn't want to think about that – nor did she want _him_ to think about it, either.

"I just want to be your wife," she told him. "Without having to worry about anything for a while."

"You don't have to worry, my love. I'll take care of everything."

"I thought that you didn't have a plan…"

"I have now," he said, cupping her face gently and she struggled to breathe through the lump in her throat.

_Her Angel._ That was why it was so familiar. They had done this so many times before, talking for comfort – only with a mirror between them. Sometimes, when she was too lost in thoughts to care she envisioned something like this – and maybe it was why he didn't have any notion about their future life. It felt so real – and it hurt so much when she let go of these fantasies.

She let out a trembling sigh.

_He had a plan now._

Right now, that was exactly what she needed.

"Today?" She rasped.

He nodded. "If you agree."

"Of course," she whispered, and leaned forward for a kiss.

He didn't hesitate to take over the lead this time.


End file.
